Heavier Than a Mountain (Destiny's Crucible Book 3)

by Olan Thorensen

  “No, sir. Not expected at all. Pardon me if I’m out of line, but what does this mean for our mission?”

  “Mean? It only means things didn’t go as well as we hoped, and we’ll just have to work harder, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir,” said the relieved young officer. “Only a minor setback, I’m sure, sir.”

  Only after the door closed and Akuyun sat alone again did he let his calm façade fade.

  Beaten by the islanders? How can this be? Well . . . not beaten, I suppose. Zulfa says they are withdrawing. Aivacs is not one to play with words, so if they were beaten badly, he would have said they were retreating. It must mean the battle was indecisive, but the army is still intact and Zulfa has decided to break off contact.

  Another message, delivered that evening to his villa, and further messages the following several days bore out Akuyun’s prediction. By then, Akuyun knew the basic elements of events. The Eywellese had abandoned their position protecting the right flank and had fallen into an islander trap, resulting in over a thousand Eywellese dead, including the Eywell Hetman and his two sons. Before the Narthani commanders on the scene realized the right wing’s exposure, the islanders attacked by enfilade and rolled over the first infantry block and the right artillery position and mauled two or three more infantry blocks, before other units could reposition. The islanders didn’t pursue further attacks, except for harassing the army as it withdrew into Eywell. There, Zulfa found the Parthmal base destroyed, and he ordered the army to continue to Hanslow, the Eywell capital.

  Zulfa waited until the army reached Hanslow and for confirmation that no major islander forces had crossed the border before he rode hard back to report in person to Akuyun in Preddi City. He came straight to Akuyun’s office without changing clothes or doing more than shake off the worst of the dust. Four men stood hunched over a diagram of the Narthani deployment in front of Moreland City: Zulfa, Akuyun, Accessor Hizer, and Admiral Kalcan.

  “And Hetman Eywell gave no indication of what he was doing or any other warning?” asked Akuyun angrily.

  “Nothing,” answered Zulfa bitterly. “The combination of lingering morning mist, gun powder smoke, and grass fires set by the Caedelli made it difficult to see the entire field. Somehow, the Caedelli enticed Hetman Eywell to chase after several hundred clansmen who seemed to be fleeing to the south. Unconfirmed reports say the clansmen might have included the Keelan hetman—which would fit, since the two hetmen were long-time enemies. Whatever precipitated his leaving his position, Hetman Eywell took two-thirds of his riders with him and ran straight into an ambush, where the clans decimated them. The Caedelli then attacked the flank of our right-most block and rolled right over them and into the artillery position. Neither the block nor the artillery batteries realized their danger in time to react. The islanders then pushed farther and savaged two more infantry blocks before other blocks wheeled in formation to face the flank. Plus, I had much of my own cavalry moved to back up the infantry. At that point, the Caedelli pulled back. Faced with losing half the artillery and with three of the infantry blocks destroyed or badly mauled—and, of course, most of the Eywellese—I decided it best to withdraw to reassess.”

  “And your reasoning for not counterattacking at that point or at least trying to retake the artillery?” asked Akuyun.

  “Colonel Erdelin reported that his men saw the Caedelli hauling our cannon away. In the confusion and limited visibility, it was impossible to be sure where the cannon were. If they had left them in place and tried to use them against us, I would have considered such a counterattack.

  “However, under the circumstances, I didn’t think a counterattack advisable. The Caedelli were on two sides with large mobile forces. We didn’t have enough cavalry, and the infantry was unlikely to force them to stand.”

  Zulfa wiped sweat and dirt from his face with a cloth.

  “In addition, what we faced was completely different from the intelligence we used in planning. We expected a mass of uncoordinated light cavalry, and we based our plans on trying to force them into attacking under conditions where we could crush them. While we inflicted significant losses on a cavalry charge into our prepared fire zone, we didn’t catch as many of their riders as we had hoped, and the attack on our right flank was far more coordinated and well carried out than we had any reason to suspect them capable of. Yes, enticing the Eywellese to break position was the key, but reports are that both at the ambush of the Eywellese and the flank attack, the Caedelli had light cannon.”

  “Cannon?” said a startled Hizer. “We had no reports of any field cannon among the clans.”

  “Well, reports or not, they had them. Not many, and witnesses say they were odd pieces with three barrels about the size of swivel guns. It’s doubtful they had much range, but at close quarters they delivered canister effectively. Once the islanders got through the Eywellese screen, they got their artillery within a hundred yards of the rightmost infantry block and began firing before they were seen. In the confusion and limited visibility, I suspect the leaders of that block had no idea what was happening.

  “The final factor in my decision to withdraw was that they didn’t act like an enemy inexperienced in modern warfare. Fixing our attention to the front by sacrificing as many as a thousand men, then attacking an exposed flank and pressing hard until they came against more prepared positions, upon which time they withdrew, all speaks to me of significant military experience and planning.”

  “But we found no indication of any such capability with the Caedelli,” said Akuyun, who turned to Hizer. “Did I miss anything in reports?”

  “No,” said the Assessor. “Everything we learned says the islanders have never fought engagements of this size, never with cannon, and they certainly have never faced a modern mixed army of infantry, artillery, and cavalry. All of which leads to an obvious conclusion.”

  “They had help from outside of Caedellium,” stated a grim Zulfa.

  Hizer nodded, as did Kalcan, who added, “That occurs to me as well. But who?”

  “It could be any one of our enemies,” said Akuyun. “The Iraquiniks and the Fuomi are the obvious possibilities, since they’re the ones we’re currently in direct conflict with, but any of the other realms could be worried about the expansion of the Empire and our one day turning attention to them—certainly, any of the nations on Landolin are possibilities.”

  Zulfa wiped his face again and took a long draught of water. He appeared drained.

  Akuyun looked grimly at his subordinate.

  “Aivacs . . . I expect a full written report tomorrow. But for now, go and clean up, and get some food and sleep. I doubt you’ve had much of either the last few days. We’ll meet again after I read your detailed report.”

  After Zulfa had left the room, Hizer turned to Akuyun. “What do you think? Did he do the right thing by withdrawing, instead of counterattacking?”

  “It’s impossible to be sure. My own inclination would have been to counterattack and still try to accomplish the mission, but Zulfa was the commander on the scene. He’s the only one who saw everything in real time and had to make the judgment. Without other indications, I’m inclined to support his decision. In addition, I’ve had high confidence in his abilities for several years, and that experience weighs in his favor.”

  “I’ve also known Aivacs for several years and have always thought him one of the better troop commanders I’ve worked with,” said Kalcan, who then added, “But again, what does this do to the mission objectives and timetables?”

  “Obviously, the best-case outcome isn’t going to happen. We’re not going to take all of Caedellium easily—certainly not with what we have here now,” Akuyun said with a scowl.

  Hizer frowned. “So you don’t think you could mount a more deliberate campaign, such as the circum-island strategy—moving on the coastal clans using the navy for support and mobility?”

  Akuyun looked at the Caedellium map on the wall and waved toward the western coast
. “For example, if we moved against Stent Province, they could withdraw inland while the clans gathered forces. If they refused to give battle, we don’t have enough men to hold the province and move on to the next one, such as Pewitt. The Stentese would just move back in and they would be in our rear, and so on around the island. Yes, we can take any one clan’s province, but we can’t hold it and take more. We’ve just not got enough men. Plus, the more we stretch out our men, the easier it would be for the islanders to whittle us away a little at a time.”

  Akuyun kept facing the wall map as he ruminated.

  “Also, remember that they put upward of twelve thousand men against us this time. Now that they’ve pushed us back, I’d be surprised if the clans that didn’t oppose us this time won’t be emboldened, and we could face twenty to thirty thousand the next time. When you add their greater mobility and cannon they already have and those they captured, I think the best we can do is hold what we have.”

  “You haven’t mentioned it, General,” said Hizer, “but I know what else is on your mind. You have to protect the Narthani noncombatants on the island. There are sixty thousand Narthani, plus another forty thousand servants and slaves in Preddi Province. For all practical purposes, they are part of the Narthon Empire. If you used enough forces to try a further campaign against the islanders, wouldn’t this put Preddi in danger?”

  “You’re correct, Sadek, it’s on my mind. If we send troops, with naval support, to attack other clans, it would weaken our ability to defend Preddi Province. We would be forced to pull all nonmilitary personnel back into cities and towns, which would prevent growing the food and mining the ore that make this expansion possible. Given all these considerations, I’m suspending the status of this mission and restricting it to holding the existing three provinces and continuing whatever non-direct military activity is still possible. Full reports will be sent to Narthon immediately. Unless I hear compelling arguments against, I will recommend that a substantially larger force is needed to subdue the island.”

  Akuyun paused and looked for comments. “Assessor Hizer?”

  “I’m inclined to agree, but I would like to read the reports in more detail before I write my observations to the High Command.”

  “Will one day be sufficient?”

  “I think I can finish tomorrow, if I get Zulfa’s written reports early enough.”

  “Good. Admiral Kalcan, prepare your fastest sloop for return to Narthon with dispatches. Take no cargo or passengers. Instruct the captain on the urgency to make the fastest time possible.”

  “There will be complaints about no cargo or passengers from at least the trading houses and Prelate Balcan,” cautioned Kalcan.

  “That’s why there are to be no exceptions. A blanket prohibition is easier to enforce than a leaky one.”

  The next day involved a flurry of report writing, including Assessor Hizer’s concurrence with Akuyun’s recommendation. On the second morning tide, a Narthani sloop left the harbor and hoisted full sails within three hundred yards of shore. Catching the winds northeast around the northern tip of the Landolin continent to Ezarkin, the closest Narthani port, would take the sloop a month and a half. From there, the reports would travel 3 to 4 sixdays by riders and semaphore to reach the High Command at Umasya, the Empire’s capital.

  Five months, thought Akuyun. It will be a minimum of five months to hear any response to our reports. And given how slowly the decision wheels turn at such high levels, and then factoring in time to gather reinforcements, I expect it will be six months or more. I’m afraid we have some tense months ahead.

  CHAPTER 5: LEARNING

  Three Things

  Yozef Kolsko acknowledged three things in the month since the battle of Moreland City. First, he realized he couldn’t decide whether his actions during the fighting at Moreland City meant he was braver than he’d thought or stupider. Despite gut-wrenching fear and his intent to stay as far from bullets, blades, and cannon as he could, somehow, in the heat of the battle, while the Keelanders tried to use their own small artillery pieces and the larger captured cannon against the Narthani infantry formations, he’d forgotten his fear and rushed to help organize the Keelan gunners. When he looked back at those minutes, how he’d acted didn’t fit his own self-image. Episodes of cognitive dissonance recurred, as his mind tried to reconcile that he had done something he couldn’t imagine himself doing. If he’d witnessed anyone else behaving that way, he would have viewed the person as heroic, a word he would never have associated with “Joe Colsco.” Perhaps “Yozef Kolsko” was a different person?

  Brave or stupid? He found it hard to use the latter label, because what he did had been necessary. The Narthani infantry blocks had repositioned to face the clansmen. Both sides had begun serious musket fire exchanges, which would have only one outcome; the islanders weren’t disciplined enough to stand against professional soldiers. The only hope, and one Yozef had recognized, was to get the artillery pieces into action. Keelan gunners had tried to bring their three-barrel swivel light artillery into position, but one of the three carriages had overturned, its crew disorganized, and Yozef felt sure they intended to abandon the carriage.

  He could only remember thinking that they needed every piece in action as soon as possible to suppress the Narthani muskets. He had no recollection of making a decision but found himself organizing the overturned carriage crew and helping other Keelanders get the captured Narthani 12-pounder cannon into action. Now, it was all a blur. He had no doubt that if they hadn’t gotten the artillery into action, the Narthani would have crushed the Keelan attack and killed most of the men, including Yozef—though he arrived at this judgment in hindsight. It had come down to his doing what was necessary, without considering the potential cost to himself.

  As a result, whenever someone raised the topic of what he had done during the battle, he diverted the conversation, claimed he couldn’t remember details, or he found a reason to be somewhere else.

  The second realization Yozef came to happened gradually, but he only fully acknowledged it when he woke one morning, rolled over, and looked at Maera still sleeping. The previous evening had been one of best he could remember. They had lingered over evening meal, her talking about plans to organize the university, him describing ideas for new projects, both of them listening intently to what the other had in mind and offering comments and suggestions at the right moments, both of them knowing the other had truly listened.

  Later, they played the Anyar version of the game GO. Maera, a master at the game, had played at the Snarling Graeko pub with the best local players until her pregnancy progressed to where she wanted to spend evenings at home. Still, she missed playing and coerced Yozef to play whenever she could. He usually obliged, though he hadn’t yet won a game from her. At the pub, he felt proud of her skill and pleased to watch her intent focus when she played. Although he didn’t mind her being so much better than him, it irked him that he didn’t win occasionally.

  “You must not concentrate enough,” said his wife after his third loss.

  “Somehow, I don’t believe that’s the problem,” he said. “I’m concentrating as hard as I can—just to see if once I can win a game against you.”

  “And you would want me to lose a game now and then?” Maera asked, the smile at the corners of her mouth indicating she already knew her husband’s answer.

  “It would have to be a real win.” Yozef paused. “I don’t mind losing as much as wondering how you do it. Let’s play a game, and you tell me why you made each move. Maybe I can pick up some pointers and at least make our games more interesting for you.”

  They played again, and Maera explained her reasoning when she could. By the twentieth move, it became apparent he couldn’t learn how to play better.

  “I’m sorry, Yozef. The best moves simply seem obvious to me.”

  “No need to be sorry. It’s what I suspected. You have some of the characteristics of a savant.”

  “A what?”

>   “Savant. A word my people use for someone with an extraordinary intellectual talent that can’t be explained.” Yozef didn’t tell her that another definition of savant pertained to someone with an extraordinary talent who also had a significant impairment, such as autism. Savant was the only word he could think of at the moment, and the Caedelli wouldn’t know the difference.

  “Then you must be one, too,” said Maera, “with all the knowledge you have.”

  “No. I’m smart enough, but more the normal level. Having knowledge doesn’t necessarily have a direct correlation with intelligence, though obviously it helps, especially in using the knowledge. If anything, I might be called a polymath, someone with broad knowledge in many areas.”

  “So many new words, Yozef. I wonder if you’ll ever run out of them. I hope you realize every time there’s a new one, it makes me all the more curious about exactly where you came from.”

  Yozef frowned. “Now, Maera, we agreed—”

  “No, no,” said Maera, laughing. “I’m not going back on our agreement. I won’t press you for details of your mysterious origin. You said you’d tell me someday, if you could, and that the secrecy has nothing to do with Caedellium and its people.”

  “As for new words,” said Yozef, looking to divert the conversation from the sensitive subject, “that’s part of expanding knowledge. The more you know, the more you need words that weren’t necessary before.”

  “As you say,” replied Maera. “So, if I’m a savant and you’re a polymath, our child will be what?”

  “A treasure. A miracle.”

  The rest of the evening, they talked of the child, of their house, of inconsequential things, all the while communicating about being together, even if they never spoke the words.

  As he lay in bed, looking at Maera and remembering the evening, his throat tightened, his gaze softened, and he resisted the urge to reach out to embrace her. He told himself he didn’t want to wake her, but he knew it wasn’t the only reason.